IV

With a bellow Slock reached for Retief--and choked off in mid-cry as

the Fustian elder, Whonk, pinioned him from behind, lifting him clear

of the floor.

"Glad you reporters happened along," said Retief to the gaping newsmen.

"Slock here had a deal with a sharp operator from the Groaci Embassy.

The Groaci were to supply the necessary hardware and Slock, as foreman

at the shipyards, was to see that everything was properly installed.

The next step, I assume, would have been a local take-over, followed

by a little interplanetary war on Flamenco or one of the other nearby

worlds ... for which the Groaci would be glad to supply plenty of ammo."

Magnan found his tongue. "Are you mad, Retief?" he screeched. "This

group was vouched for by the Ministry of Youth!"

"The Ministry's overdue for a purge," snapped Retief. He turned back

to Slock. "I wonder if you were in on the little diversion that was

planned for today. When the _Moss Rock_ blew, a variety of clues were

to be planted where they'd be easy to find ... with SCARS written all

over them. The Groaci would thus have neatly laid the whole affair

squarely at the door of the Terrestrial Embassy ... whose sponsorship

of the SCARS had received plenty of publicity."

"The _Moss Rock_?" said Magnan. "But that was--Retief! This is idiotic.

Slock himself was scheduled to go on a cruise tomorrow!"

Slock roared suddenly, twisting violently. Whonk teetered, his grip

loosened ... and Slock pulled free and was off the platform, butting

his way through the milling oldsters on the dining room floor. Magnan

watched, open-mouthed.

"The Groaci were playing a double game, as usual," Retief said. "They

intended to dispose of this fellow Slock, once he'd served their

purpose."

"Well, don't stand there," yelped Magnan over the uproar. "If Slock is

the ring-leader of a delinquent gang...!" He moved to give chase.

Retief grabbed his arm. "Don't jump down there! You'd have as much

chance of getting through as a jack-rabbit through a threshing contest."

Ten minutes later the crowd had thinned slightly. "We can get through

now," Whonk called. "This way." He lowered himself to the floor, bulled

through to the exit. Flashbulbs popped. Retief and Magnan followed in

Whonk's wake.

In the lounge Retief grabbed the phone, waited for the operator, gave a

code letter. No reply. He tried another.

"No good," he said after a full minute had passed. "Wonder what's

loose?" He slammed the phone back in its niche. "Let's grab a cab."

* * * * *

In the street the blue sun, Alpha, peered like an arc light under a low

cloud layer, casting flat shadows across the mud of the avenue. The

three mounted a passing flat-car. Whonk squatted, resting the weight of

his immense shell on the heavy plank flooring.

"Would that I too could lose this burden, as has the false youth we

bludgeoned aboard the _Moss Rock_," he sighed. "Soon will I be forced

into retirement. Then a mere keeper of a place of papers such as I

will rate no more than a slab on the public strand, with once-daily

feedings. And even for a man of high position, retirement is no

pleasure. A slab in the Park of Monuments is little better. A dismal

outlook for one's next thousand years!"

"You two carry on to the police station," said Retief. "I want to play

a hunch. But don't take too long. I may be painfully right."

"What--?" Magnan started.

"As you wish, Retief," said Whonk.

The flat-car trundled past the gate to the shipyard and Retief jumped

down, headed at a run for the VIP boat. The guard post still stood

vacant. The two Youths whom he and Whonk had left trussed were gone.

"That's the trouble with a peaceful world," Retief muttered. "No police

protection." He stepped down from the lighted entry and took up a

position behind the sentry box. Alpha rose higher, shedding a glaring

blue-white light without heat. Retief shivered. Maybe he'd guessed

wrong....

There was a sound in the near distance, like two elephants colliding.

Retief looked toward the gate. His giant acquaintance, Whonk, had

reappeared and was grappling with a hardly less massive opponent. A

small figure became visible in the melee, scuttled for the gate. Headed

off by the battling titans, he turned and made for the opposite side

of the shipyard. Retief waited, jumped out and gathered in the fleeing

Groaci.

"Well, Yith," he said, "how's tricks? You should pardon the expression."

"Release me, Retief!" the pale-featured alien lisped, his throat

bladder pulsating in agitation. "The behemoths vie for the privilege of

dismembering me out of hand!"

"I know how they feel. I'll see what I can do ... for a price."

"I appeal to you," Yith whispered hoarsely. "As a fellow diplomat, a

fellow alien, a fellow soft-back--"

"Why don't you appeal to Slock, as a fellow skunk?" said Retief. "Now

keep quiet ... and you may get out of this alive."

The heavier of the two struggling Fustians threw the other to the

ground. There was another brief flurry, and then the smaller figure was

on its back, helpless.

"That's Whonk, still on his feet," said Retief. "I wonder who he's

caught--and why."

Whonk came toward the _Moss Rock_ dragging the supine Fustian, who

kicked vainly. Retief thrust Yith down well out of sight behind the

sentry box. "Better sit tight, Yith. Don't try to sneak off; I can

outrun you. Stay here and I'll see what I can do." He stepped out and

hailed Whonk.

Puffing like a steam engine Whonk pulled up before him. "Sleep,

Retief!" He panted. "You followed a hunch; I did the same. I saw

something strange in this one when we passed him on the avenue. I

watched, followed him here. Look! It is Slock, strapped into a dead

carapace! Now many things become clear."

* * * * *

Retief whistled. "So the Youths aren't all as young as they look.

Somebody's been holding out on the rest of you Fustians!"

"The Soft One," Whonk said. "You laid him by the heels, Retief. I saw.

Produce him now."

"Hold on a minute, Whonk. It won't do you any good--"

Whonk winked broadly. "I must take my revenge!" he roared. "I shall

test the texture of the Soft One! His pulped remains will be scoured up

by the ramp-washers and mailed home in bottles!"

Retief whirled at a sound, caught up with the scuttling Yith fifty feet

away, hauled him back to Whonk.

"It's up to you, Whonk," he said. "I know how important ceremonial

revenge is to you Fustians. I will not interfere."

"Mercy!" Yith hissed, eye-stalks whipping in distress. "I claim

diplomatic immunity!"

"No diplomat am I," rumbled Whonk. "Let me see; suppose I start with

one of those obscenely active eyes--" He reached....

"I have an idea," said Retief brightly. "Do you suppose--just this

once--you could forego the ceremonial revenge if Yith promised to

arrange for a Groaci Surgical Mission to de-carapace you elders?"

"But," Whonk protested, "those eyes! What a pleasure to pluck them, one

by one!"

"Yess," hissed Yith, "I swear it! Our most expert surgeons ... platoons

of them, with the finest of equipment."

"I have dreamed of how it would be to sit on this one, to feel him

squash beneath my bulk...."

"Light as a whissle feather shall you dance," Yith whispered.

"Shell-less shall you spring in the joy of renewed youth--"

"Maybe just one eye," said Whonk grudgingly. "That would leave him

four."

"Be a sport," said Retief.

"Well."

"It's a deal then," said Retief. "Yith, on your word as a diplomat,

an alien, a soft-back and a skunk, you'll set up the mission. Groaci

surgical skill is an export that will net you more than armaments.

It will be a whissle feather in your cap--if you bring it off. And

in return, Whonk won't sit on you. And I won't prefer charges of

interference in the internal affairs of a free world."

Behind Whonk there was a movement. Slock, wriggling free of the

borrowed carapace, struggled to his feet ... in time for Whonk to seize

him, lift him high and head for the entry to the _Moss Rock_.

"Hey," Retief called. "Where are you going?"

"I would not deny this one his reward," called Whonk. "He hoped to

cruise in luxury. So be it."

"Hold on," said Retief. "That tub is loaded with titanite!"

"Stand not in my way, Retief. For this one in truth owes me a

vengeance."

Retief watched as the immense Fustian bore his giant burden up the ramp

and disappeared within the ship.

"I guess Whonk means business," he said to Yith, who hung in his grasp,

all five eyes goggling. "And he's a little too big for me to stop."

Whonk reappeared, alone, climbed down.

"What did you do with him?" said Retief. "Tell him you were going to--"

"We had best withdraw," said Whonk. "The killing radius of the drive is

fifty yards."

"You mean--"

"The controls are set for Groaci. Long-may-he-sleep."

* * * * *

"It was quite a bang," said Retief. "But I guess you saw it, too."

"No, confound it," Magnan said. "When I remonstrated with Hulk, or

Whelk--"

"Whonk."

"--the ruffian thrust me into an alley bound in my own cloak. I'll most

certainly complain to the Minister."

"How about the surgical mission?"

"A most generous offer," said Magnan. "Frankly, I was astonished. I

think perhaps we've judged the Groaci too harshly."

"I hear the Ministry of Youth has had a rough morning of it," said

Retief. "And a lot of rumors are flying to the effect that Youth Groups

are on the way out."

Magnan cleared his throat, shuffled papers. "I--ah--have explained to

the press that last night's--ah--"

"Fiasco."

"--affair was necessary in order to place the culprits in an untenable

position. Of course, as to the destruction of the VIP vessel and the

presumed death of, uh, Slop."

"The Fustians understand," said Retief. "Whonk wasn't kidding about

ceremonial vengeance."

"The Groaci had been guilty of gross misuse of diplomatic privilege,"

said Magnan. "I think that a note--or perhaps an Aide Memoire: less

formal...."

"The _Moss Rock_ was bound for Groaci," said Retief. "She was already

in her transit orbit when she blew. The major fragments will arrive on

schedule in a month or so. It should provide quite a meteorite display.

I think that should be all the _aide_ the Groaci's _memoires_ will need

to keep their tentacles off Fust."

"But diplomatic usage--"

"Then, too, the less that's put in writing, the less they can blame you

for, if anything goes wrong."

"That's true," said Magnan, lips pursed. "Now you're thinking

constructively, Retief. We may make a diplomat of you yet." He smiled

expansively.

"Maybe. But I refuse to let it depress me." Retief stood up. "I'm

taking a few weeks off ... if you have no objection, Mr. Ambassador. My

pal Whonk wants to show me an island down south where the fishing is

good."

"But there are some extremely important matters coming up," said

Magnan. "We're planning to sponsor Senior Citizen Groups--"

"Count me out. All groups give me an itch."

"Why, what an astonishing remark, Retief! After all, we diplomats are

ourselves a group."

"Uh-huh," Retief said.

Magnan sat quietly, mouth open, and watched as Retief stepped into the

hall and closed the door gently behind him.